The Pure Hunt
by tinedanzer
Summary: A huntress hunts a lion, but changes her mind when her hunt is interrupted. Wrote this to give female yuatja more air time. One-shot.


**A/N:** Definitely not my best work, but I really wanted to get this one out. It just doesn't have the feel I wanted for it. Some other day I will come back and retool this one to make it better. Right now I have too many silly ideas floating around in my head for expanding "I Stole A Ship." So that's what I'll be up to for a while.

Please review!

Tell me if you think Dhi'rauta deserved a bigger story.

This story was inspired by the amazing B. A. Gemar. She has been a tremendous help to me, putting up with my thousands of questions and constant pestering for advice. If you haven't read her stories, you're really missing out! Go read them! (Her stories are in my favorites and her page is in my favorite authors)

Also, tell Ms. kaydeeblu that she needs to write Dhi'rauta's story with me! Lol. I'm shameless, I am, I am. ;-D

XxXxxXxXxXx

 **The Pure Hunt**

There is a certain propitiation in the polishing of a new trophy from a recent hunt. The simple act brings about a proud wind down to the event, curtailing it with a sheer adoration from hunter to prey. Or in this case the huntress. Dhi'rauta carefully drew her claw along the skin and over the scalp of the scull she held. The muscles of the kill were still pulled taut in fearful surprise. He had been a worthy kill, his incredible courage had drawn her attention from her intended prey, making him the target instead. Her mandibles' tusks clicked softly as she regarded the expression before lifting the skin and flesh away from the bone underneath. He had been fascinating to watch…

The lion she had come for was busy sunning himself on a low flat rock while the lionesses tended their young in the early morning sun. Dhi'rauta crouched in the tall grass observing. The lion yawned, large mouth opening wide to reveal a line of sharp fangs much like her own. Beneath her mask, her mandibles reflexively splayed opened and slowly flexed closed in response. She was already well into her hunting mindset. She had been sitting in this same clump of grasses since the sun had set the night before. Watching. Waiting. Observing.

Why go to Earth if you're not hunting oomans, her mei-jadhi, her sisters, had questioned. The lions. Dhi'rauta loved hunting the lions. There were more fierce prey on other planets—even on this one—but few had the broad skull with the fat fangs and the tri-colored mane that she so coveted. Even the tails were fun toys for her sucklings, the tufted ends catching their attention when whipped through the air and bringing out their hunting instincts long before they could toddle. In fact, the very loincloth she wore now was fashioned from the mane of two lions. This hunt was not for any status or ranking, it would not even be scored, really. It was merely for pleasure. It was for the lion.

For many hours Dhi'rauta had been directly down wind of the beast she now hunted, but as the sun trekked slowly higher in the clear Earth sky, the breeze shifted just enough to bring a new scent to the huntress. Now she found her pale yellow eyes sifting through the tall grasses to the left. Her grey masked head turning in small increments, fully taking in the lay of the surrounding savannah. She was not alone. This female Yuatja, this alien predator, was not the only hunter stalking her lion. Long strands of slate blue and black striped hair slid over and around the chocolate hide of her shoulders revealing matching slate blue striping across her broad back. The creamy buckskin of her chest expanded with a steady, deep breath, drawing in the faint scent of the intrusive entity. Male. Definitely male. And ooman to boot. She suppressed a disgusted huff, as that would only alert the lion to her presence. She would simply have to get to the lion first, for she would not give up her prey. She certainly would not give it up to an ooman!

Shifting her focus back where it belonged, she noticed the lion had caught a whiff of the other stalker now too. Clumsy fool. Stupid ooman. S'yuitde, pathetic! What did he think he would accomplish by giving himself away like that? Her wheaten gaze traveled back in the direction of the interloper and widened. He was encroaching on her prey! The audacity. But what was this strange weapon he wielded? Small and black with a telescoping end, was he intending to shoot the great cat with some sort of canon? And why did this canon have rounded glass on the end of the barrel, did he forget to remove the covers? What kind of hulij-bpe paukde, crazy fucker, was this ooman? He had obviously lost his mind. She stilled, watching and waiting for his next act of ridiculousness.

A soft clicking noise reached her sensitive hearing every bit as much as it reached the lion, but the lion, at least, seemed to have a better understanding of what he was seeing. Because Dhi'rauta was at a complete loss. This strange weapon the ooman was holding made nearly inaudible sounds but did nothing more that she could see. The lion was completely unharmed, albeit very curious. Could it be some sort of distraction? She glanced around searching for another hunter or perhaps some other weaponry laying in wait for a remote signal. Nothing. And the black object's barrel telescoped further out making more quiet clicks. This was quite the quandary. Maybe it was some sort of game in which the ooman must get the attention of the lion and… do what exactly? Maybe not. It just didn't make sense. Hulij-bpe, crazy.

And as she watched, the ooman turned the black weapon on it's side. Then he stopped altogether and lowered his hands. He sought to freeze in a poor mimicry of the huntress's perfect stillness. She was quickly tiring of this intrusion. She may have to dispatch the ooman simply to get on with her own hunt. Her gaze shifted back to the lion. Also bored, the great cat began giving himself a bath. Just like a male, she thought. Things aren't interesting, so he decides to put himself on display for the females. Too bad there wasn't another lion around to challenge him. That, at least, would be somewhat worth watching.

A slow crunching sound carried over from the direction of the ooman. He was moving now, creeping closer to the tawny beast. The self-indulgent tongue caresses, the cat's golden eyes flicking up to evaluate the new movement and then immediately dismiss any possibility of an actual threat. Dhi'rauta had to agree. The cat resumed his bath. But the ooman was undeterred by the insult and continued his foray into the lion's territory. The huntress was intrigued now. This ooman was either overly daft or overly daring. And possibly both at the same time.

Her head cocked to one side, she found her gaze transfixed on this crazy male. Considering an ooman's inability to run at a speed worth actually calling it a "run," he was now solidly placed within striking distance of the lion. And the lion knew this. The great cat let out a short growl of annoyance before shifting his weight and redistributing his bulk to face away from the ooman. Even the lazing animal had discounted this small male. But now, Dhi'rauta was not so sure he should be counted out just yet. Oomans were notorious for their clever antics. That is why they were such favored prey by so many hunters.

At any rate, the interaction between the two males had definitely gained her attention. It was a universal. One male, very obviously dominant, putting himself on display for the females. Another male, sorely outclassed, but desperate to make a name for himself, attempting to gain the respect of the dominant. Regardless of species. She hushed herself at the beginning of an amused trill. Her mate had been just one such young male. Out to prove himself, taking on challenges that were certainly beyond his ability and by some act of Paya, or just plain dumb luck, pulling it off. He had eventually grown out of that over exuberance and become a fine hunter, skilled, brave, and well respected in the clan. Her mate was now the dominant male sunning himself on the rock, but he had once been the overly zealous young male itching to earn his place.

Every male must be young and untried at first. Inexperienced and desperate to taste the bitter tang of fresh blood in his own mouth. Hungry for the awed respect and fearful submission displayed in honor of his status as a danger, a threat to others of his kind. The heady pull of elite status drawing his killing lust to the forefront of an insatiable mind, pushing him to challenge, fight, bleed. Her mate had attracted Dhi'rauta's attention in his fearless quest for betterment. Much like this reckless ooman was doing just now. And if he were Yuatja…

If he were Yuatja, he would know better than to antagonize the tawny beast by crawling so close in such a submissive pose. But perhaps there was a method to the madness. Oomans were not without intelligence, after all. Huntress and predatory cat silently contemplated the male and his small black weapon with rounded glass at one end of a telescoping barrel. He lifted it again pointing the strange device at the lion. Stretched in carefree repose, the cat leaned his heavy head against one foreleg, twisting to face the man and his black, clicking canon. He stared for a moment before a long wide tongue flicked out, lazily caressing his soft muzzle, golden eyes taking measure of the soul bared, wholly, before him. The lion found him lacking. A large tawny paw stretched out toward the ooman, flexing sharp claws out of their sheaths then drawing them back in a playful display of dismissal. The beast rolled to his back and yawned.

Dhi'rauta found her gaze riveted as the foolish ooman reached out his own hand, slowly, tentatively… fingers brushed toe pads. The lion rolled to his stomach in a flash of golden fur. Lips pulled back from muzzle and a deep growl enunciated a clear warning. The huntress paused her breathing. A tufted tail whipped side to side. Haunches bunched, muscle coiled beneath hide. Claws extended, feet gaining purchase against the rock. Whiskers flicked up and back, riding the snarl of the cat's lips. And all the while, the ooman held his device, clicking softly. He crouched before certain death and clicked his purposeless device, further agitating the great beast.

It must be a dare, thought the Yuatja. Why else provoke a lion? The ooman was not hunting the lion. At what point, exactly, does bravery become foolishness, and is the same true in reverse? Can foolishness eventually pass into the realm of actual courage? Dhi'rauta felt that she must observe this hulij-bpe paukde to learn the answer. And so she did, forgetting the lion almost entirely. With a painstaking slowness, the man began moving to one side, the lion's fearsome fixation following. Backing up, the ooman continued clicking his strange device. Irritated, frustrated, the tawny predator rent the atmosphere with another growl. He would not be toyed with, he would have the ooman know this. But the paukde continued to taunt the cat none-the-less.

The huntress fingered her chakt-ra, hunting disc, but decided against it. Too impersonal. This brave soul looked death in the face. She would return that stare eye to eye. His th'syra, his skull, would adorn her trophy wall in a place of honor. This one's kv'var, his hunt, would be a tale to tell for generations. She would hunt this ooman with only her ki'cti-pa, her wrist blades. He wished to walk up to death and greet it like a familiar, she would allow him that privilege. Dhi'rauta would greet him. This ooman was not tarei hsan, unworthy prey, as she first thought. He was worthy. He was daring her.

As the man backed toward his fate, she felt a pleased rattle tremble in her breath. He would back right into her arms. Slowly, carefully, he crawled submissively to pacify the lion. And she nearly trembled in anticipation. Glancing over his shoulder he picked his way, in reverse, through the edge of the tall grasses. She waited. Long thick arms crept through the air around the ooman's waist, not yet touching him, but preparing. He froze. Body tensed. She moved not a muscle. His scent of exhilaration was now permeated by trepidation. A small chill quivered through his neck into his shoulders, dissipating below his ribs. Bright blue eyes waxed wide over his shoulder, searching but not seeing. Dhi'rauta was cloaked and stilled. He scrutinized the air, startling realization pulling the muscles of his face tight. He could sense her presence hunched over him. Her arm snapped his smaller body close, yanking him off the ground and tossing him aside.

He rolled. Scrambled to his feet. She jumped. Landing crouched before him. Dust puffed and grass bent around her clawed feet. He barked a surprised yelp. She trilled. She couldn't help it. Silence was no longer necessary. Behind her the lion roared his alarm. Her lower mandibles spread as far as her mask allowed. Her arms flung out at her sides, clawed fingers splayed. He backed up. Blue eyes searching for signs of movement. She let her ki'cti'pa drop with a metallic snikt. He shook his head, one arm raised to across his neck. Twisting away, he sought to run. Grabbing his arm, she through him back to the ground. The lion dropped from his rock, growling. The ooman crab crawled away, clutching his gun tight. She stooped to pick up the black weapon he'd lost, dropping her cloak that he may see his hunter. Another blunt roar sounded from behind. She snarled over her shoulder. Tossed the ooman's canon away. The cat jerked into a momentary cower. Energy rushed through her. Wheaten eyes snapped back to the ooman. Gray mask followed behind the gaze, a slower, more predatory movement. Mandibles clicking ominously.

She heard it, knew it was coming. It was a calculated move, or rather it was calculated not to move. The ooman saw it coming too. She tensed her muscles, closed her eyes. Anticipating. Jagged claws latched into her shoulder and lower back. The lion attacked. Feet firmly under him now, the ooman ran. Fangs grazed across her neck with murderous intent. One massive gray hand reached back, over her shoulder. Gripped the big cat's mane, pulled him loose. Yanked him over her head to fall on his back on the ground. Twin blades pierced golden belly fur and then retracted. The great cat howled a pained roar. The ooman stumbled, launched himself forward before he'd regained his footing. With a mighty twist of his golden body, the lion sprung into the air. Dhi'rauta leaped to meet him. The ooman risked a backward glance over his shoulder. Legs tight together, arms straight out and spinning like a tilted top in flight, the huntress greeted her cat. Ki'cti-pa entered tri-colored mane, separating it from the golden furred shoulders.

The ooman screamed. Golden cat's body landed with a thud. Her vision lit up with the warm spray of thwei, blood. Thwei gushed forth from the body, sprinkled through the air and scattered across the ground. The severed head rolled to a halt several yards away, leaking more then just thwei. Dhi'rauta landed in a kneel, ki'cti-pa blade tips digging into the savannah earth, opposing arm straight out behind her. Grace, poise, power, huntress. Her head tipped up to find her quarry. Twisted to gape back at her, he stumbled again. When he launched into another terror fueled run, she gave chase. Each stride matching two of his, her legs carried her farther, faster. Clawed fingers wrapped around his biceps and shoved him to the ground. Momentum carried them both into a tumble. She pushed him off and to the side. He rolled onto his back, crab crawled away as she stood to tower above him. Sun to her back, her shadow covered his desperately fleeing form. She stepped forward.

Crouching in front of her prey, her hand wrapped carefully around his neck. His very life drummed a frantic beat beneath her palm. He had looked the lion in the face. She would now gaze upon him, eye to eye. Her free hand raised to release her mask and latch it to her belt. The ooman begged in his ooman speak. Most of it she did not understand, but the tone of his voice was clear. He plead for his life now. He must know his end is near. The game is over, the huntress has won. She leaned forward, pressing her larger brow to his tiny partially furred one. Wheaten eyes stared directly into blue.

"Please—Please, just release me!" The ooman whined.

"Sei-I," she replied. Yes, she would release him. Twin blades slipped through fabric, slid into skin, shoved between ribs. Slivered organs. Struck through the other side of the soft pyode amehda body reaching into the air. Warm thwei ran in rivulets down the blades. His eyes widened in the shock and pain of the strike. She flicked her wrist to one side. Ribs crunched, heart split. The oomans lips parted, jaw dropped and bobbed twice. His eyes gazed directly into her own, never wavering. Slowly losing their focus. His body slackened onto the blades, giving his weight over to her. Giving his life over to her.

He had given her a good hunt. She had given him a release.


End file.
